


A Suitable Engagement: Kristanna Past Lives, Chapter 9

by Karis_Artemisia_Judith, upthenorthmountain (aw264641)



Category: Frozen (2013)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Regency, Courtship, F/M, Regency Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-03
Updated: 2018-12-03
Packaged: 2019-09-06 11:32:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16831780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karis_Artemisia_Judith/pseuds/Karis_Artemisia_Judith, https://archiveofourown.org/users/aw264641/pseuds/upthenorthmountain
Summary: In a past life, Anna and Kristoff encounter each other during the Regency era. Part of the Kristanna Past Lives collaboration.





	A Suitable Engagement: Kristanna Past Lives, Chapter 9

**Author's Note:**

> Written by Karis, Art by Anna (upthenorthmountain)
> 
> Author’s Note: I’m afraid this story is a bit silly, because while I adore Jane Austen, it’s so much easier to imitate the work of Georgette Heyer (and as other Heyer fans can probably guess from this story, my favorite Heyer is The Grand Sophy).

_art contributed by upthenorthmountain_

The curricle bounced along the lane, silent except for the thudding hooves of the matched greys and the crunch of the wheels.

“You know that I was right,” Anna said finally. Her companion ignored her, keeping his eyes fixed on his horses. His gloved hands were tight on the ribbons and the tension made the greys fretful. “Everything turned out for the best,” the young woman insisted. “You know that I couldn’t love Elisa more if she was my own sister, and she—”

“You didn’t need to interfere,” he growled.

She peeked up at him. His jaw was set, and the unruly golden hair, so unfashionably long that it brushed his collar, did nothing to soften his expression. “Of course I didn’t _need_ to interfere,” she said sweetly. “But I wanted to.”

“You—” He bit down on his words, but not before his brown eyes, smoldering with anger, raked over her. “I had everything in hand.”

“Of course you did.” Anna smoothed the printed muslin of her skirt. “That’s why your sister was almost engaged to the most tedious man alive, and you, my dear Christopher, were engaged to the most odious woman in London. You were all set up to be the most miserable—”

“Hannah is not odious—”

“Oh of course not, I forgot. No one with five thousand a year could be odious. She is…fashionable. And controlling. And a lying, red-headed bag—”

“If there’s a red-headed baggage in this tale,” he snapped, “it is you.”

* * *

Everything had been settled before Anna Rivenhall had been dumped on the Beaumont household. Her father, a widower and career military man, had raised his daughter at military postings all over the continent before bringing the freckled, unpolished, over-enthusiastic young woman to England to be brought out into society. Mrs. Beaumont had never seen her goddaughter before, but agreed at once to take her in and present her to the world. Why, she’d brought out her own daughter Elisa just the year before, and Elisa was expected to enter into a very desirable match any day. Christopher hadn’t been consulted, despite the fact that he managed the estate and the finances that his father had left in such disarray. But he had still been extremely civil to their new guest.

And then Anna Rivenhall had upended their lives with a speed that left him spinning.

* * *

“If you were so concerned about Elisa’s happiness,” he said, “surely you could have found a less outrageous method.”

“But I couldn’t! She was utterly convinced that she had to marry that tedious Mr. Fishface—”

“Flitman.”

“—Fishman, and after you said all those horribly disparaging things about Martin, she knew that you would never dream of consenting to a match between them. Really, Christopher, you don’t know your own sister. Elisa needs approval so much, and she wants to do the right thing so badly, she was prepared to be as miserable as possible if that was what _you_ wanted. So I had to get Mr. Fishboat—”

“ _Flitman_.”

“—Mr. Fishlips to elope with me instead, because then naturally he could never marry Elisa.”

“And what if Elisa hadn’t followed you? Were you so dedicated to my sister’s happiness that you were prepared to become Mrs. Fishwoman?”

“Flitman,” she corrected primly. “And I was never concerned about that, because of course I knew that you would come after me. Hannah,” she added darkly, “was an unexpected complication.”

* * *

Miss Rivenhall had been the toast of London. Miss Rivenhall was lively, charming, witty, at ease in any company. Miss Rivenhall was no blushing young miss out of the schoolroom, but a young lady with numerous acquaintances among the diplomatic community _and_ the young officers. She was instantly friends with everyone. Miss Rivenhall had callers every day, and Christopher complained to his mother that their sitting room might as well be an assembly hall, since it was so crammed with people. Miss Rivenhall was an heiress, Miss Rivenhall was an accomplished horsewoman, Miss Rivenhall, Miss Rivenhall, the celebrated Miss Rivenhall was all that anyone seemed to talk about.

Miss Rivenhall very nearly made red hair and freckles fashionable, something that Hannah Westgard had failed to do in three years on the town.

“My dear Christopher,” Hannah had said, “your new guest is a delightful creature, but so very…” She paused. “Enthusiastic,” she added finally. “Perhaps, since she surely looks on you as a brother, she will see me as a sister, and let me give her just a little advice.”

Miss Westgard was praised for her elegant figure, her aristocratic features, her exquisite manners. It was true that she had gone three seasons without forming an engagement, but no doubt her very modest fortune was to blame. When Christopher’s mother had threatened to die of a spasm if he didn’t pull his nose out of his ledgers and find a wife, Miss Hannah Westguard had been there in front of him, exactly the woman he was looking for in every way. Accomplished, sober-minded, a good family.

And now she was latched to him with a proprietary arm through his elbow.

Anna was laughing in the arms of yet another young officer, gliding around the room with him. Her silk dress was extravagantly embroidered and far too bright a color. She smiled far too much. She _flirted_ with anything that moved, including the middle-aged Mr. Flitman, who was expected to formally propose to Elisa any day, although he had started to favor Miss Rivenhall. And that left Elisa free to take the arm of that young Mr. Martin.

“What did you say?” Christopher asked, tearing his eyes away from the dance floor to look down at his fiancée.

“I said, perhaps I could encourage Miss Rivenhall to have a little more decorum. I would be so distraught if she let her charming natural enthusiasm betray her into behaving too loosely.”

* * *

“Miss Westgard was concerned for your reputation. You left London, in company with a gentleman, unchaperoned, carrying luggage in a carriage suitable for a long journey—”

“But we only went as far as my father’s house,” Anna pointed out. “We weren’t even an hour’s journey from town, and besides, as you found when you arrived, my dear godmother was there! My reputation was perfectly safe!”

“You should have left my mother out of it,” Christopher growled.

Anna fiddled with the ribbons of her bonnet. “But, Christopher,” she said, her blue eyes wide and her smile impish, “I thought you would be pleased. You had said that I needed to take more care with my reputation, and I heeded your advice!”

“I _meant_ that you should not go galloping in the park, and that you shouldn’t make a spectacle of yourself flirting with cohorts of men in the street—”

“Oh really, my dear Christopher, even I couldn’t flirt with a whole cohort at once. I’d have to arrange a schedule.”

“Stop calling me that.”

“What? My dear Christopher? You never seemed to mind it when Miss Westgard used it. She would say ‘my _dear_ Christopher’ and pet your arm like you were her spaniel, and then you would do whatever she told you because she’d convince you it was _proper_ and _fitting_.”

“I do not—” he cut off the words and his lips compressed into a thin line. Anna waited for him to continue, but he just glared over the horse’s ears.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“I’m taking you back to London.”

“And you swore that you’d never take me anywhere again, after I teased you into that evening at Vauxhall!”

“You were abominably rude that evening, and you know it.”

“I do,” she admitted. “Although in justice to me, you must remember how badly I was provoked. Besides, I apologized to Miss Westgard, and she snubbed me.”

“She was extremely upset.”

“Yes, and she invited herself today because she was so _concerned_ for my well-being. That’s why she called me a—what exactly did she say?”

Christopher frowned. “It wasn’t something a gentleman should repeat.”

“And not something a lady should have said at all.” They both fell silent for a moment, and Anna toyed with the button of her glove until it twisted off in her fingers. “I suppose you’d never seen Hannah Westgard lose her temper before,” she said finally.

“No.”

“She’s very good, at acting. She has wonderful self-control, usually.”

“Yes.”

“I did want you to see her as she really is, but I’m sorry that it happened that way. I’m sure it was very unpleasant.”

Christopher rubbed absently at his cheek, where Miss Westgard had slapped him during her tantrum. “It was.”

Anna winced. “I really am sorry. You aren’t heartbroken, are you?”

“Why did you think Mr. Martin was a suitable match for Elisa?” he asked, ignoring her question.

* * *

Mr. Martin was a cheerful young man, from a family of no particular note, and with the fortune to match his unremarkable birth. He was not particularly tall, nor particularly handsome. But he was a good dancer, a good horseman, and had been at school with several wealthier men who were glad to have him as their guest in London. He was not a catch and he knew it, contenting himself to fill out the numbers at card parties and to provide a neat but shabby contrast to the sartorial splendors of his friends.

Until he saw the shy, pale, pretty Miss Beaumont and utterly lost his heart.

He had already known, before he ever saw her, that Miss Beaumont was as good as engaged to the wealthy and distinguished Mr. Flitman. When he learned the name of the beauty in the ice-blue gown, he had given his heart up for lost.

Until an angel in vibrant green arranged to be introduced to him.

Anna had liked Martin immediately, and she had liked the way he looked at her friend, as if Elisa were the only woman in the room. Mr. Flitman was polite and honorable and paid Elisa all the proper attentions, but his manners were perfunctory and his eyes would wander. Anna thought that, underneath his well-bred manners, he was a bit of a letch. Besides, she already knew perfectly well that he didn’t _love_ Elisa, and Elisa didn’t love him, and so it was settled—she would have to find someone else for Elisa to marry. In Mr. Martin, she knew she had found the right one.

She just needed to come up with a plan to drive Mr. Flitman away before he could get around to proposing.

* * *

“Martin loves Elisa, and she loves him. I know it isn’t a brilliant match, and they won’t have a great fortune, but that’s all to the good. Surely you know that Elisa dislikes London as much as you do! She hates the season and the bustle and all of it. Martin is going to have the living at the church near my father’s estate in the north, it’s all arranged. He will carry her away to a lovely little vicarage, with some hardy roses growing over it that can survive her attempts at gardening, and they’ll be ever so happy together. It’s true love!”

“It’s nonsense.”

“Oh, Christopher, really. You saw how happy she was! And the banns will be posted properly, and an announcement made in the paper. It’s not as if she’s running off to Gretna Green.”

“No,” he snapped. “ _She’s_ not.”

* * *

Anna’s plan had not quite worked the way she anticipated. It was easy to coax Mr. Flitman’s attention away from Elisa and onto herself. It was harder to convince Elisa to spend enough time with Martin to fall in love, but Anna had managed. It had been easy to arrange for Mrs. Beaumont to be at the Rivenhall house, on an outing with her daughter and that kind Mr. Martin. Anna had planned it all herself, including suggesting a stop at her father’s house for a picnic in the orchard, but then had contrived a headache.

And it was shockingly, embarrassingly easy to get Mr. Flitman to drive a pretty young red-headed off into the country unchaperoned, and with luggage—a detail that Anna had arranged to be mentioned to Christopher by one of his friends, knowing that the young Mr. Beaumont would come to rescue her from the error of her ways.

She had not expected his fiancée to have heard the rumor as well, however, or for Hannah Westgard to insist on joining the chase.

Things _had_ gotten a little messy once everyone was in one place, Anna could to admit to that. But Mr. Flitman had proved himself to be unworthy, and Mrs. Beaumont had instructed him never to call on her daughter again. Elisa had managed a very convincing faint into the arms of an alarmed Martin, who had carried her to a couch and fretted over her and begged her mother’s permission to propose as soon as Elisa regained consciousness—which she did quite quickly, after that. All of that had gone well, and Christopher had arrived in time to witness it.

Hannah Westgard, however, had proved far more mercenary than even Anna had anticipated. Finding a far wealthier gentleman unattached, she had contrived to make a scene on the spot, a bitter, engagement-ending argument. And then she had departed with Mr. Flitman for the border, leaving everyone in her wake dumbfounded.

Anna hoped that she would be very happy with her new fortune, at least. And it did save Anna the trouble of coming up with her own plan to end the engagement. But it had been awkward, and now Christopher was angry with her, which _did_ complicate things.

* * *

They completed the rest of the drive in silence. Anna tried a few times to speak, but Christopher was sternly mute, and her self-confidence faltered enough that caught herself chewing her lower lip anxiously. Her companion didn’t speak until the curricle had clattered to a halt in front of the Beaumont’s London residence.

“I trust you can step down without my assistance. I want to take the greys round to the stables myself.”

“Of course.” Anna hopped down from the vehicle smartly.

“And do not get into any trouble before I get back,” he added. Then he was gone. She frowned after him, tapping her foot for a moment. Then she went up the steps, where a footman let her in to the house. Relieved of her bonnet, Anna went to pace in the sitting room until she heard voices downstairs. She was daintily embroidering a handkerchief when Christopher strode in. Really it was Elisa’s handkerchief, but Anna had snatched it up in her hurry to present a composed, unconcerned countenance.

“I do hope the horses are all right,” she said. “It really is a terrible road between here and my father’s house. I must tell him to see if something can be done about the condition of the—”

“I am not,” he said abruptly, and she blinked, looking up at him for the first time since he’d entered. Christopher was standing stiffly by the fireplace, his grey coat severe, but his neckcloth looking rather crumpled, as if he’d been tugging at it. His hair was tousled—certain gentlemen of Anna’s acquaintance went to a great deal of trouble and hair wax to achieve a similar style, called the Brutus, but she knew that Christopher simply couldn’t be bothered to look in a mirror after removing his hat.

“You aren't…what?” she asked. “You don’t agree that the roads should be repaired?”

“No. I mean, yes, they’re abominable, but I meant—you asked me, earlier, if I was heartbroken.”

“So I did.”

“And I am not.”

“Oh.” Anna set the handkerchief aside. She’d interrupted Elisa’s pattern of blue flowers with a sloppy red daisy. “Well, that’s good.”

“You should know that I—” He stopped, then turned away from her to face the fireplace.

“What should I know?”

Christopher sighed. “You may have been right, about Elisa,” he said. “She did look happy. I worry what years of poverty will do to that happiness.”

“Oh they won’t be in _poverty_ , really, it’s quite a good living, you know. And Martin will probably get a tidy inheritance from a childless uncle of his, so that will provide a future for their children. I _do_ think ahead sometimes, Christopher.”

“So you do. Very well. And you anticipated the end of my own engagement.”

“Yes, but I _promise_ that I had a plan that would have been less awkward. You simply couldn’t remain engaged to Miss Westgard, though, Christopher. She brought out your worst stuffy, bossy traits, and suppressed all of your good qualities.”

“Oh yes? And what good qualities will now be unleashed?”

“Your sense of humour, obviously,” Anna said promptly. “That’s already recovering. And your spontaneity. The ability to have fun. And hopefully you’ll finally wear something other than grey.”

“I have a dark blue jacket.”

“Hmm. Well, it’s a start.”

“There will be a scandal,” he muttered, leaning his arm on the mantle.

“Yes, and I am sorry about that. But you know that most of it will be on Hannah’s own head, after all.”

“I’m afraid I can’t take comfort from that. I do not defend her behavior, which I admit was appalling, especially toward you—”

“Thank you.”

“—But I do feel responsible. There _will_ be a scandal, and I can’t excuse myself from my part. I drove Miss Westgard into an unbearable situation.”

“You did no such thing! Hannah Westgard created the unbearable situation herself, and I’m sure she did it on purpose. She was tired of dealing with me, for one thing, and she saw a chance to hitch her cart to a better fortune. Christopher, she didn’t love you.”

“I was aware of that, thank you.”

“Well, then. If Hannah Westgard’s reputation is ruined, she has no one but herself to blame—although I will be completely surprised if they _actually_ went to Gretna Green, you know. I will wager anything you like that she talked him into taking her home and having a proper engagement. Besides, even if they do elope, everyone will forget soon enough. Scandals don’t stick to the very wealthy, do they? And Mr. Flitman is wealthy enough I suppose.”

“He is. I, on the other hand, am not. If I am honest, I am not sorry that Miss Westgard broke it off, but there are things you do not know, Miss Rivenhall.”

“If you mean that inheritance from your grandfather, the one you won’t get until you’re married, I know all about it,” Anna said. “And if you mean the debts your father left, I’m afraid I know about those too. Your poor sweet mama told me everything one day when she’d worried herself into a sick headache. You see, _she_ didn’t want you to marry Miss Westgard either, because she knew you’d be unhappy, and she felt that she’d driven you into the engagement by telling you about the bequest.”

“I see. And yet you have failed to make provision for me,” he said, a faint, wry smile curling the corner of his mouth as he looked at her in the mirror over the fireplace. “Is there no Miss Martin that you have arranged for me to become engaged to?”

“Oh, don’t be silly, of course not!” Anna exclaimed. “You’re going to marry me!”

“You!” He swung around to face her, brown eyes wide and incredulous. “Don’t be ridiculous, you can’t marry me.”

“I can, it will be easy. I looked up the ceremony and memorized the words already, and I know just where to get the lovely pale green silk for—”

“Anna,” he said heavily. “You and I both know that you are an heiress, with a fortune far exceeding mine. And you are sure to have many proposals—”

“I’ve had three,” she interrupted. He stared at her. “I’m sorry, go on. You were saying?”

“You’ve had three proposals?”

“Yes. Lord Selachi, the Earl of Genua, and that poet. Mr. Bryont. But probably I shouldn’t count him, I don’t think he was serious.”

“The Earl—Anna, you know I’m right, then. You could marry far higher. Your father expects you to—”

“I turned all three of them down on the spot,” Anna said. “Do you know why?”

He shook his head.

“Because I already knew I was going to marry you.”

He shook his head again, turning back to the mantle. “Anna—”

“I knew as soon as I met you that I was going to marry you.”

“Anna—” Christopher raked his fingers through his hair. “You can’t know that you’re going to marry someone you’ve just met.”

“But I did! I met you, and you said ‘How do you do, Miss Rivenhall’ and bowed so stiffly that you might have been made of wood. And I just looked at you and thought—and thought how familiar you were. And that I would have to marry you. It was a terrible blow to learn that you were already engaged, because I thought perhaps you were already in love.”

“But I wasn’t.”

“I know. I could tell. And I was sure that you could feel it too, that you knew me. Didn’t you?”

“Of course not,” Christopher said, addressing his curt words to the mantelpiece.

“No? Not even when we danced, at Lady Sybil’s ball? I could see it in your face. But after that you would never dance with me again.”

“Anna—Miss Rivenhall—”

“Why don’t you kiss me?”

“I can’t,” he stammered. “You—you’re too—”

“What?”

“You’re too short.”

There was silence. Christopher leaned his head into his hand. “That’s not what I meant,” he admitted. “I mean—I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you. It was like…like seeing sunlight for the first time. And I can’t kiss you before you’re too _much_ , Anna. You’re overwhelming. If I kissed you, I don’t think I could stop. Sometimes I feel like the needle of a compass, and you’re the north. Like I could point to you with my eyes closed, no matter where you are. And that’s terrifying. I—”

There was a dull thump on the carpet behind him, and he turned to find himself eye to eye with Anna Rivenhall for the first time. She had carried over the little footstool, and was standing on it.

“Kiss me now,” she said.

His fingers brushed her cheek, cupping her jaw as if the soft curve belonged in his palm. Their noses bumped, and Anna laughed softly against his mouth, but then he found the way to tilt her head so that his lips muffled the sound, so that he could taste her laughter and feel the vibration of the pleased hum that escaped as she leaned into him.

Anna was sunlight, warm and life-giving. Anna was a maelstrom. Anna was running her fingers into his hair, Anna was as familiar as his own heartbeat, Anna was tracing patterns across his jaw, Anna was overwhelming—

Anna was laughing breathlessly as she tilted her head back, and Christopher realized that his arms were tight around her waist. Her slippers must be dangling several inches above the floor, because they’d knocked the stool over. He set her down gently.

“Anna—Miss Rivenhall, I—would you—”

“Yes.” She smoothed her dress, and took his hand, smiling up at him. “I would be honored to marry you.“ 


End file.
